Periwinkle Dusks
by Medea Arduinna
Summary: The introduction and first chapter of the story of how Eowyn and Faramir's daughter met her husband, the father of Barahir - the man who wrote the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in Appendix A. Please RR!
1. Default Chapter

Thank you for choosing to read my sweet little story. ^_^ A basic overview, in case it is a bit confusing: -It is said that Éowyn and Faramir have a son named Elboron. However, it is not sad whose parents are that of Barahir, the grandson of Faramir and Éowyn, who wrote the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in The Return of the King Appendix A. So, this is my take on Barahir's mother, Ithiaél (who is the main character, and Elboron's sister - obviously) and how she met the father of Barahir. Again, thanks for reading. Click 'next chapter' for the, er, next chapter! -Sage of Wisdom 


	2. Periwinkle Dusks Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not. Except for Ithiaél, and Erestor, and Ereinion...well all the stuff that's not Tolkien's.  
  
Periwinkle Dusks  
by: Sage of Wisdom (L.C.T.)  
  
A periwinkle dusk settled over the Ithilien manor, a waning crescent moon shimmering against the blue-purple sky with the stars, a soft April breeze blessing the air. The hem of the young woman's blue-grey dress whipped against her ankles, and loose, minute strands of her cinnamon- colored hair tugged at her scalp against the wind. The aforementioned hair was fashioned after the way of the ladies of Minas Tirith, which was braided on either side and the ends pinned after the back of her head after it had circled around once.  
The daughter of Lord Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and his Lady Éowyn, she stood at five feet ten inches, and had the eyes of her father - the blue-grey of her dress, though a bit lighter and incredibly deep, truly the windows to her soul.  
She was incredibly gifted in writing poetry and songs, and took delights in gardening, reading, playing the flute fashioned for her by Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire, one of her mother's closest friends, and singing. She had the voice of the goddess - or so she'd been told by Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, who had been hired by Faramir and Éowyn as a gardener until the end of the realm of King Elessar, when he would sail off over the Sea, which is as much as he'd told the young woman, and she didn't press for more information at the time, when she was ten years old.  
She was also like her father in that she liked to try and think of resolutions for problems. But there was one problem that she, Ithiaél, Princess of Ithilien, could not think of a solution to.  
"Ithiaél!" Her mother called, appearing suddenly in the doorway, her tall, slender frame not much different from Ithiaél's silhouetted by the light pouring out from inside. "Ithiaél, what is on your mind?"  
"Naught that is enough to be of concern."  
"Any concern of my daughter is one of mine. Tell me, what troubles you?" Ithiaél folded her arms over her chest and sighed heavily.  
"I am seventeen, staying here whilst I should be trying to find a suitor; leastways, that is what my friends in Minas Tirith say to me when I should visit. Especially those of Númenorean descent."  
"Ithiaél, it is truly up to you to decide your suitor, whoever that may be. I myself was twenty-four when I fell in love with your father. Listen to what your heart tells you. Just because your brother's married, does not mean you have to rush into marriage." She nodded, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.  
"That's more like my girl - now my young woman." There was a wistful sadness in her mother's clear blue eyes. "Now come, our dinner's going to get cold, and you know how your father likes to eat."  
  
..::*::..  
  
"Legolas," said Ithiaél as she helped the elf prince plant some dahlias, "have you ever found somebody you loved? I mean, a potential wife, I guess, since you're not married...I mean...oh, forget I asked." She blushed and scooped some more dirt.  
"It's all right," he said, laughing. "I believe if there was one out there for me, we would have crossed paths at least once, and I would have known something." He smiled the usual kind smile and continued. "The Sea will be my wife soon enough."  
"You know Mother and Father would give you leave, if you should ask for it. They do not know of your plan, unless you have told them already."  
"Oh, they know," said Legolas, "and were more than gracious in offering me my job here until I was ready to go. My work in Middle-earth is not all completed as of yet. I still have many things to learn."  
"I could not imagine being on this earth two millenia as you have...but that is just one of the many things that differentiates you and I." She swiped the back of her hand against her nose, which resulted in a stripe of dirt streaked across her cheek and over her nose. Legolas laughed, reached over and lightly dusted off the dirt from her pale skin, his fingers lingering on her cheek a second longer than necessary, and she tried desperately to ignore the tightening feeling in her stomach but failed. She'd had these sort of feelings for Legolas since she was a young teenager, but she'd dismissed them as they came fleetingly and went just as quickly.  
"I know what has been on your mind lately," Legolas softly spoke, but Ithiaél just kept planting. She didn't care to talk about it; she hadn't even wanted to talk about it with her mother, and she knew everything about Ithiaél - perhaps more than the young woman knew about herself.  
"Ithiaél?" he touched her shoulder and she looked at him and met his blue eyes. "You don't want to talk about it, do you?"  
"Not, er, particularly." said Ithiaél, offering a kind smile to let him know she wasn't angry.  
"It's all -"  
"Milady," said one of the gardeners, offering a very quick curtsy, her chest heaving with the big, gulping breaths she was taking. "Your mother...she wants to see you, to talk with you of something. Something about taking a bit of leave for a while."  
"Thank you, Faénian." Ithiaél got up, brushing the dirt off her hands onto the apron she wore. "Until next time." She nodded at Legolas and turned, running back towards the manor, holding her skirt up inches from the ground to keep from tripping.  
"Mother?" Ithiaél called, heading to Éowyn's chambers.  
"Ithiaél, we are leaving for a while...to visit one of our good friends, Erestor and his son Ereinion. They live on the edges of Mirkwood, and we have not been to visit since Elboron was a little boy and you but, oh you must have been two or three...I can't recall that well, but your father would know. Anyhow, we will stay for one less a fortnight."  
"Why are we going?"  
"Erestor has invited us to stay, of course. Your father has been granted leave from the king. His son, Ereinon is three years your senior." Faramir then entered the room, placing a hand on the small of Éowyn's back. They were still just as in love as they had been twenty-three years ago, and little had changed in them, save for hints of tiredness in Éowyn's eyes, and a few silver hairs joining her golden ones. Faramir, blessed with the fast-fading blood of Númenor, he was blessed with long life, as King Elessar, and remained unchanged.  
"Please do not be saddened, Ithiaél. Legolas will keep his keen watch on the gardens and the manor. It is a beautiful land, where Erestor lives...you will love it just as you love Ithilien, I'm sure." Faramir offered a smile.  
"That is not what worries me, Father." She walked to him, kissed him on the cheek and smiled, walking to her room to prepare for the journey to Erestor's land.  
  
A/N: I am SO sorry it's so short...as is my Zelda/Link fanfic...but this is but the prologue, introducing stuff...I promise I will try and make the next chapters longer..forgive me if I don't! Please review...constructive criticism is appreciated, flames will be used to roast your head. 


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